


He called your name before he went

by MelodyGarnet



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, first time my OC is an idealized version of me can i get a 'wahoo', haven't decided yet, i fixed the footnotes, may have explicit torture in later chapters, no scrolling necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-04-24 07:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyGarnet/pseuds/MelodyGarnet
Summary: The demon Crowley disappeared with a crash one late autumn Thursday night. Quite literally so, in fact, as he was driving his recently reconstructed Bentley until, suddenly, he wasn’t. The Bentley then proceeded to careen straight into an unsuspecting road side oak tree in the South Downs, which then proceeded to lose all its autumn leaves at once in an unexpected feat of pre-emptive baldness.





	1. Chapter 1

_A strange echo in his ear, a sudden tug to the east and down. A Summoning so sudden like he'd never felt before, the work of a moment. The second stretched for ever. He didn't know if it was Hell calling him back, but if they were, then They would call Him soon, too. "Aziraphale!", he called out, a useless warning. Then he was gone._

The demon Crowley disappeared with a crash one late autumn Thursday night. Quite literally so, in fact, as he was driving his recently reconstructed Bentley until, suddenly, he wasn’t. The Bentley then proceeded to careen straight into an unsuspecting road side oak tree in the South Downs, which then proceeded to lose all its autumn leaves at once in an unexpected feat of pre-emptive baldness. This turned out to be exceedingly fortuitous – although please do refrain from mentioning this to Crowley, the Bentley or the aforementioned oak tree anytime this decade, as it is a rather sensitive subject for all involved. Without such a dramatic disappearance, it is quite possible it would have taken his official best friend Aziraphale up to a decade to realize the snake of Eden hadn’t just gone off to sulk somewhere. Crowley had, after all, quite spectacularly lost their game of Drunk Monopoly that very night[1][2].

Instead, it took the angel all of twelve hours to realize that Crowley wasn’t refusing to pick up his cell phone because he was sulking, but because he didn’t have it with him. This was an immediate cause for concern, as Crowley was really, _terribly_ addicted to Candy Crash. A Crowley without his cell phone was very, very unusual indeed. Upon having called the Demon once every half hour for four hours straight – the previous eight having spent in their cottage’s sofa reading in a first edition of _The Lord of The Rings_ trilogy after Crowley had swanned off in a nearly naked huff – Aziraphale had given in to his recently acquired[3] co-dependent tendencies and left the cottage to find him. He was reasonably sure at the time that Crowley must have gone back to London to cheer himself up by causing all manner of minor mischief. Lacking a car and a driving license, Aziraphale decided to take a bus.

(This would give him the right amount of time to amuse himself by writing a rant in his head to tell Crowley off. He could have miracled himself to London, but then he wouldn’t have the time to get in a right lather about Crowley’s nerve to propose a game and then swan off before finishing it[4]. But he also couldn’t go by bike, because then it would take him so long that he would start to worry. You see, being left alone by both Heaven and Hell had made them rather worried that either of those two parties would change their mind and punish them after all. Hence the recently acquired co-dependent tendencies of the two: less chance of being caught off-guard.)

Aziraphale had only been sitting on the bus about a quarter of an hour – not even long enough to start wondering how he’d get the bus driver to drop him off somewhere with a connection to London without interfering with her free will – before he was forced to bang on the fire engine red ‘STOP’ sing. Some three minutes of politely yelling “If the button says STOP, you should ACTUALLY STOP”, the angel was let off the bus. He ran back the way the bus came. For there, by the roadside and cordoned-off by strings of yellow DO NOT CROSS police ribbons, was a painfully familiar Bentley, wrapped around a suddenly bald oak tree. The officers were holding a sleek cell phone, that was miraculously still working despite its bent shape and a cracked screen, which showed some sixteen calls from a number labelled "The Cottage".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Monopoly was not an invention of Crowley’s, sadly, although he did quite like the discord it naturally produced. _Drunk_ Monopoly, however, was. It involves rather the same rules, except you remove a clothing item any time you have to pay up a certain amount of Monopoly money. If a particularly observant outside observer were to ask Crowley if the game was designed to get Aziraphale – who was quite bad at Monopoly – to lose as many clothing items as possible, Crowley would say no.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 2  
> Crowley is a liar.  [ return to text ]  
>    
> 3  
> Since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, in fact.  [ return to text ]  
>    
> 4  
> Aziraphale was not annoyed by Crowley being a sore loser. This was Crowley he was talking about, after all. Really, his annoyance stemmed from the fact that Aziraphale – for the first time ever – had made an effort at winning Monopoly, because he was a bit of a bastard and wanted to see Crowley ~~get naked~~ lose.  [ return to text ]


	2. Where is he?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema Device was a witch. She was, all things considered, an exceptional woman in her own right who has many qualities that don’t have anything to do with being a witch. However, at the moment, Aziraphale is not interested in any of them.

After an increasingly frustrating conversation with some police officers who were otherwise probably quite competent but were simply not equipped for the situation, Aziraphale had managed to acquire Crowley’s phone by sheer bloody pigheadedness.

Aziraphale had first told the officers that he worried Crowley’s previous employers had gotten a hold of his best friend in retaliation for getting out of the business [5][6]. The police officers, like many before them, got the distinct impression Crowley had been in the Maffia and not that he was, in fact, a recently neutral demon from Hell. As a result, they tried to question Aziraphale on his relationship to this Crowley.

7]. Aziraphale simply plucked the phone from their grasp, opened the privacy lock (666, of course) and shoved the phone back in their face. He knew perfectly well that Crowley had a picture of him as his wallpaper just for this routine [8] and was not above using it.

It was surprisingly effective for a remote village (the officers fell over themselves trying not to insinuate anything untoward as they had recently sat through a (too) intense anti-discrimination seminar). The gay marriage routine got Aziraphale Crowley's phone as well the information that the driver was missing, and that Crowley might not have been in the car when it crashed, as there was no blood inside. How the driver had disappeared from a car driving at high speed without any traces of blood anywhere was anyone's guess. Aziraphale thanked the officers, acted very worried (if anything, he was acting less worried than he was actually feeling), and asked if anyone could give him a lift to a friend of his. The worried officers promptly dispatched a car to get the high-strung man out of the way and deliver the possible widow to this friend at Jasmine Cottage, Tadfield.

Anathema opened the door to a face she hadn’t seen in two years, accompanied by a police officer. She adapted quickly, letting the pair in and serving tea and cookies[9]. The second the officer had explained the car crash/missing driver situation and left, Aziraphale sprang up and started pacing.

“I just know that Crowley would never hurt the Bentley like that, and he’d never leave his phone behind, so something _must_ have happened. I really need to find him, only my senses are all- Miss Device, you _must_ help me. You’re a witch, aren’t you? Can you track Crowley?”, he babbled.

Anathema, who was most decidedly neither a mind reader nor a bloodhound, had him sit down explain what had _actually_ happened. The angel explained what he knew.

Somewhat calmer, Aziraphale concluded: “I am just – I am _worried_ , Miss Device. To disappear so suddenly… I fear Hell got to him. We’ve been safe and neutral for a while, I was convinced it was all over. Heaven and Hell, I mean. At the least, I thought we would get longer before they caught up with us. We got too sure too soon, I suppose. I need to know whether he’s on Earth or…Down Below, but I can’t sense him right now.”

“Right now? Does that mean you can usually sense each other?”, Anathema asked curiously.

Aziraphale nodded. “We used to, if we concentrated. It made the Arrangement so much easier. Find each other, undo each other’s work, that sort of thing. Balancing it out.” He smiled a bit, then looked down at his empty tea cup. He played with it a bit as he continued: “You can fall out of practice quite quickly, though. We could always predict where the other was, after a couple centuries of knowing each other. Then we would just … agree when and where to meet. When Adam was born, we stopped splitting up entirely, because we were trying to influence the Antichrist around the clock. Not that we were influencing the _actual_ Antichrist, of course. But, we didn’t need to sense for each other, in any case.”

“And also you moved in together afterwards.” Aziraphale glared at her. “What? I don’t care if you moved in romantically or as “best friends”. You have.”

The angel sighed. “Fine, yes. We moved in together. Some of the time. Platonically. The point is, I can’t just trace his whereabouts.”

“So you thought to show up at a near stranger’s door unannounced, in the hope I could trace him for you. Because all I am to you is a witch.” Anathema leaned back in her chair. She hoped she sounded as annoyed at the reduction of her skills as she was feeling.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Yes, Miss Device. All I know of you is that you are a witch, and that I’ve been interrupting whatever you were doing. But can you trace him for me?”

There was a look in his eyes, Anathema thought. A flash of steel beneath the soft exterior. She suddenly remembered how tall he stood two years ago, holding a flaming sword, facing Satan in an airfield. A soldier…

Anathema considered him, then shrugged. “I’ve never traced a demon before, but I can try. I am, after all, a very _good_ witch.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 This is not an uncommon misconception. The entire neighbourhood of Soho, for example, believes that Mr. Crowley met Mr. Fell year ago while trying to extort him and is now protecting the bookshop owner from further extortion. There is, in fact, a neighbourhood wide wager running on whether or not that protection is being paid back in sexual favours and/or romance. There is also fanfiction, but don’t tell anyone.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 6 Crowley knows about the wager. He does not know about the fanfiction.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 7It was surprisingly effective - no miracle necessary - at getting them fancy suites when travelling, fancy tables at restaurants and acquiring a cottage without much fuss from a sympathetic lesbian realtor. If there was an element of wish fulfilment on both their parts (unknowingly, of course, the idiots), then they never spoke of it. This means that they both like using the routine, but hold off as much as possible for fear of tipping the other off (as I said: they’re idiots).  [ return to text ]
> 
> 8 Actually, Crowley has had that since long before they started using the routine. He has a whole photo album on his phone.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 9 “Thank you for the _biscuits_ ”, Aziraphale said. Miss Device was an American, after all, and ought to be educated.  [ return to text ]


	3. A lie for a lie, and your soul for sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tel Megiddo is the site of the ancient city of Megiddo whose remains form a tell (archaeological mound), situated in northern Israel near Kibbutz Megiddo, about 30 km south-east of Haifa. Megiddo is known for its historical, geographical, and theological importance, especially under its Greek name Armageddon.”

**_“Tel Megiddo_** _([Hebrew](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hebrew_language)_ _:_ מגידו _;[Arabic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arabic_language)_ _:_ مجیدو _, Tell al-[Mutesellim](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutesellim)_ _, lit. "Tell of the Governor";[Greek](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_language)_ _:_ _Ἁρμαγεδών_ _,[Armageddon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armageddon)_ _) is the site of the ancient city of **Megiddo**  whose remains form a [tell](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tell_\(archaeology\))_ _(archaeological mound), situated in northern[Israel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israel)_ _near[Kibbutz Megiddo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Megiddo_\(kibbutz\))_ _, about 30 km south-east of[Haifa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haifa)_ _. **Megiddo is known for its historical, geographical, and theological importance, especially under its Greek name** **[Armageddon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armageddon)**_ ** _._** _”_

It may or not come as a surprise to you - depending on how well you know him - but many, _many_ people have a grudge against Crowley. Sometimes this grudge is immediate and personal (“That flash bastard almost ran me over!”), but often this grudge is more general (“Who the hell thought it was a good idea to design the ringway like this?!”).

In the case of his sudden disappearance two years after the Not-End of the World, the cause of his disappearance was a curious mixture of both.

The first part of the grudge cocktail was personal. You see, some time before the end of the world, the demons of Hell caught on that Crowley was not as fired up  [10] for the War With Heaven at the planes of Megiddo as the rest of them were. Hastur and Listur, two long-time associates, went after the Snake of Eden. Due to a bucket of Holy Water balancing on said Snake’s door and the tendency of demons to melt Wicked-Witch-of-the-West style when coming into contact with Holy Water… Only Hastur returned. Hastur hates Crowley for that.

Mostly because he killed Listur, of course, but also because seeing it had made Hastur shriek for about a minute long, which was _really_ embarrassing.

The second part of the grudge cocktail is slightly more complex, and started two years ago as well.

It's important to remember that the End of the World hadn’t been averted, as such. It had been _reversed_. It had, unfortunately, been reversed somewhat clumsily. This meant that, while no-one could prove it, some people _remembered_ it had happened. [11] 

No one was more troubled by the thought of the world _not_ ending than David Thomas, a very charming American evangelical priest who had the unfortunate luck of having a first name as his last name. He was also the only Doomsday cult leader with the dubious honour of actually getting the date right [12] . In the days and hours leading up to the Apocalypse, news coming in of global mayhem had made David Thomas and his followers (who were camping out in a cave near Tel Megiddo) very, _very_ happy. The only thing that could have made these people even happier would be anyone to say “I told you so” to. As it was, the community sang and prayed and cried, hoping to see the battle between Heaven and Hell from their cave, secure in the knowledge that Armageddon was happening and that they, the virtuous few, would definitely ascend in the Rapture.

You can imagine the betrayed look on their faces when they woke up from that incredibly realistic dream several days in the past and with no Armageddon in sight. David Thomas, for one, was _really_ embarrassed.

Nevertheless, his followers persisted. They stayed in that cave, they hoped, they prayed. After the first year, half of the followers had left. Every month thereafter, three or four peeled off. One year, eight months and two weeks after the Not-End of the World, David Thomas was left with about two dozen followers. All of those who stayed, were staying because they were really fervent believers and/or had nowhere else to go. They had cut all ties with the outside world years ago and only had each other. They were bitter the End hadn’t happened, but certain that David Thomas had been right – they had all had the same prophetic dream of Armageddon, after all.

David Thomas - bitterly disappointed and unwilling to lose the last people who believed in him – stopped praying to God and begged Downstairs for help instead. He no longer wanted guidance, oh no. He wanted _revenge_ , revenge on whoever had kept the Apocalypse from happening,and he was willing to sell his soul to get it. Two weeks after that, for the first time in his life, David Thomas’s prayers were answered.

Unfortunately for Crowley, that answer was called Hastur.

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 I apologize for the pun, but it had to be made. [ return to text ]
> 
> 11The whole adult population of Tibet, for example, suddenly contracted mild to severe claustrophobia and had nightmares about endlessly digging tunnels for months. Maud, the delivery man’s wife, knew in her head that her husband hadn’t died, yet felt unexplained bouts of heavy grief and panic every morning when he left for work. He runs a very successful Etsy shop from home these days. They’re both much happier now. [ return to text ] 
> 
> 12 Two generations ago, a son of the Nutter line had rebelled by becoming a lawyer. Regretting this split in his senior years, he’d taught his grandson David all he could remember – which wasn’t very much, but did include the exact date of Armageddon.  [ return to text ] 


	4. Take if you can, give if you must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So he’s not on earth?”  
> “I didn’t say that. I’m saying he’s not here. Not in a radius of about a thousand miles.”  
> “A thousand? Really?”  
> “Adam’s been helping me practice.”  
> “Oh. Well. Thanks and well done, I suppose. I must confess, I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know if I can do anything. It’s just little old me these days. I’m not really much without Crowley or the power of Heaven backing me up.”  
> …  
> “Why are you looking like that?”  
> “The thing is…I did find something in a radius of a thousand miles.”

_“So he’s not on earth?”_  
_“I didn’t say that. I’m saying he’s not here. Not in a radius of about a thousand miles.”_  
_“A thousand? Really?”_  
_“Adam’s been helping me practice.”_  
_“Oh. Well. Thanks and well done, I suppose. I must confess, I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know **if** I can do anything. It’s just little old me these days. I’m not really much without Crowley or the power of Heaven backing me up.”_  
_…_  
_“Why are you looking like that?”_  
_“The thing is…I did find **something** in a radius of a thousand miles.”_  


Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t feel anything emanating from it, but then he could just be really out of practice. He hadn’t owned the flaming sword for a very long time, after all. [13] 

He didn’t know how he could have missed his own bloody sword being only a short trip across the Channel [14]  for at least the past couple decades but here it was. Sitting innocently in a display case in a museum in Brussels, of all places. Aziraphale considered how to get the sword out without alarming anyone and causing too much of a holdup. He knew it didn’t respond to a miraculous summoning; he’d tried that three thousand years ago.

Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled. It echoed in the quiet, empty hall, to his chagrin. It had been doing that a lot recently. Both he and Crowley tended to get hungry these days if he didn’t eat something at least once a day. They also tended to nap more. He didn’t know what Crowley thought of these more…human tendencies of late. They’d both been ignoring the matter quite successfully. But right now, it was useful: it told the angel that it was lunchtime. Lunchtime in a vast museum on a dreary Saturday afternoon…the place wouldn’t get any emptier outside of closing time. And Aziraphale _really_ didn’t want to break in tonight.

“Might as well,” he muttered.

Aziraphale stepped forward, _imagined_ he could reach through the glass and lifted the sword from its display. He stepped back carefully…no alarms. Alright, then.

“Sir, how the hell did you do that?”

“Good lord!”

Aziraphale spun around, reflexively holding the sword up to block any attack from behind. He almost smacked a young woman wearing a green badge that said “Volunteer/Translator” in the face, if he hadn’t pulled it back just in time.

“Oh!”, Aziraphale sighed, “Oh, good gracious, don’t scare me like that! I nearly hit you!”

The woman scowled: “And whose fault is that?”

“Ah.” The angel looked down at the sword like a scolded schoolboy. “Mine, I suppose.”

“You’re damn right. Now who are you and what are you doing with my sword?”

Aziraphale gaped at the woman, then puffed up with indignation as he pointed the sword at her: “Begging your pardon [15] , young lady, but it really is _my_ sword. I’m the original owner. You see –“

The woman looked intensely dubious as she pushed the blade out of her face. “As if. It’s like six thousand years old. Well, the original is. That replica isn’t, I oversaw it being made. Now, you’re going to tell me your name and how you got it out of the display case and I’m going to call security on you.”

The sword was a replica, then, meaning he still had to find the actual sword. Aziraphale realized he needed to have the young woman on his side and sighed. He didn’t have time for this, but he would have to make time.

“My name is Aziraphale, I used a divine miracle, and don’t you mean ‘or’.”  [16] 

The woman paled. “No, I was going to call security either way, but I was still deciding whether to say you were violent or not. [17]  Not anymore, though.”

Aziraphale…was confused. The woman has seemed very aggressive towards him up to that point. “Why not?"

“Because your name is Aziraphale.” As she ranted, the woman took the sword from him, opened the display case with her badge and carefully put the replica back in its setting. “I’ve been overseeing that sword and its mysteries – as an _unpaid assistant_ , which was the only way they allowed me to see it without credentials – for _two years_. Ever since it went missing with screwy paperwork and popped back up with screwy paperwork, I’ve been translating every written word about it, and I’ve been keeping track of every single discovery surrounding it since my translation internship [18]  back then. I even learned cuneiform in my spare time, because it was dug up way back when next to a tablet describing its supposed origins.” She locked the case again.

She then turned around and strode towards a door marked ‘do not enter’. She beeped her badge and opened it. She looked back at him. “I went down to see it before my volunteer shift started. Your name appeared in flaming cuneiform on the sword’s handle this morning like it was the One Ring of Mordor. You, Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate, are coming with me and telling me all you know. Divine miracles and all. And if I like what you’re telling, I may, _possibly_ , arrange a museum loan. With the right paperwork.”

Aziraphale gaped at her.

The young woman swung the door open wider, waving her hand towards the stairs going down into the bowels of the museum: “You coming?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 That one afternoon two years ago didn’t count. That was really, really short and also he’d held Crowley’s hand at some point and Satan Himself had appeared for a brief moment. Needless to say, his focus had been shot to bits and he hadn’t been paying attention.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 14 It was Saturday. The rest of Friday he’d spent pinning down where exactly the sword was, using Anathema’s powers and also Google. Saturday early morning, he’d shut down the cottage, handed the key over to a neighbour who’d take care of the plants, gotten a ride to London by Newt and taken the Channel train to Brussels. He hadn't even stopped for Belgian chocolates along the way; he was that serious.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 15 He really wasn’t.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 16 If Aziraphale hadn’t been in such a hurry, he’d have been shocked by his own rudeness. If Crowley could see it, the angel knew, he’d have been shocked and also a little bit proud. He’d have grinned that smirky grin he did so well. Aziraphale was already missing him. Good _grief_ , they were co-dependant, he thought.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 17 This was no vain threat. Security liked her. She was always good for a chat and would bring coffee or snacks from the employee cafeteria whenever one of them wasn’t allowed to leave their post yet. One hint of violence towards her and Aziraphale would end up at the bottom of a four-man pile-up.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 18 No-one had noticed that someone not-a-museum had briefly borrowed the somewhat obscure artefact. The paperwork had looked good on the surface. It wasn’t until a bored young intern was given the task of translating some paperwork for want of something to do – and you really _have to_ pay attention when translating paperwork – that anyone noticed that the paperwork wasn’t adding up at all.  [ return to text ] 


	5. That is the road to paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh”, Mel said as she examined the passport Aziraphale has used for the Eurostar, “the thing about a ‘gay marriage routine’ is that it’s not a routine… if it’s real….” 
> 
> Aziraphale stiffened as the young woman continued: “Did you know you actually got married just after the Almost-Apocalypse you told me about? Like, civilly? In Gretna Green?”
> 
> They had gotten black-out drunk after the Ritz. The angel had been so hungover, he’d forgotten how to heal a hangover. He vaguely remembered something about an anvil and ending up in stag do. Had it been his own stag do? Had he initiated the ceremony? Had Crowley? The angel slowly, without an ounce of dignity, tried to choke himself on the museum volunteer’s couch pillows. 
> 
> “Chin up,” Mel said, “I think we can use this to get you into Heaven. I may have a plan… it may involve paperwork, though.”
> 
> The couch pillows did nothing to hide the angel’s pained groan.

_"Uh”, Mel said as she examined the passport Aziraphale has used for the Eurostar, “the thing about a ‘gay marriage routine’ is that it’s not a routine… if it’s real….”_

_Aziraphale stiffened as the young woman continued: “Did you know you actually got married just after the Almost-Apocalypse you told me about? Like, civilly? In Gretna Green?”_

_They_ had _gotten black-out drunk after the Ritz. The angel had been so hungover, he’d forgotten how to heal a hangover. He vaguely remembered something about an anvil and ending up in stag do. Had it been his own stag do? Had he initiated the ceremony? Had Crowley? The angel slowly, without an ounce of dignity, tried to choke himself on the museum volunteer’s couch pillows._

_"Chin up,” Mel said, “I think we can use this to get you into Heaven. I may have a plan… it may involve paperwork, though.”_

_The couch pillows did nothing to hide the angel’s pained groan._

“This is it.”

Aziraphale looked at Mel, then back at the bank. “Are you sure?”

 “From what you told me, it sounds like the only thing Heaven loves more than paperwork is showing off how “good” it is. London’s entrance being a bank almost makes sense – bureaucratic, showing off, unquestioning accumulation of power, … [19]  If they weren’t too _grand_ to care about our changeable human affairs, they’d probably go for government buildings, actually”, the young lady mused, then shrugged. “This is the swankiest bank building of the city. If the entrance to Heaven isn’t here, we’ll have to start relying on your occult senses-“

Aziraphale frowned: “They’re _not_ occult.”

Mel rolled her eyes. She’d heard that a lot in the past week. “They’re not useful right now, either.”

She was right, of course. In the week it had taken her to shuffle things about, fudge some paperwork [20]  and get the flaming sword back in Aziraphale’s hands, there had been a lot of time to talk while he stayed in her flat. Among other things, they’d talked about Aziraphale’s angelic senses and how he was entirely focused on looking for Crowley.

They’d also talked about the Plan [21] . “Alright”, Mel said decisively. She turned to him and started fiddling with his brand-new grey waistcoat and jacket. The best way to make a statement, to her queer eye, was to do it with your clothes. Declaring your new allegiance and such. A great big ‘Fuck You and the Bigoted Wings You Flew In On’ flag only slightly less subtle than a rainbow. If Heaven really was as prissy as she’d understood from the angel, they wouldn’t be able to decide whether to like that Aziraphale’s new fastidious look was finally up to standard or to be appalled that he was using their own standards against them.

All part of their Plan. She liked the Plan, it was so very Belgian. I mean, really, calling on the minutiae of human Civil Law to explain why Aziraphale and Crawley were _unfortunately_ forced to live together peacefully, can’t break the law, gotta blend in with the natives? Exploit Heaven’s love for paperwork? It was pure and utter genius [22] .

“You know what to say. You know what to do. You’ll send me a text when you’re getting out so me and Anathema can start setting up. Whoever’s most awake will haul you back when you call. I snuck some rations into your messenger bag in case you stay a lot longer than expected [23] . _Goodness knows you’ve been ignoring normal human needs too much to think about such a thing as a goddamn water bottle,”_ she grumbled under her breath.

She rubbed his back to check whether his sword was concealed enough. Aziraphale had begun to tremble as she spoke, though. Just slightly, near unnoticeably. Mel stopped fiddling and finally looked the angel in the face. He was pale, and his breath shook, and he was looking wide-eyed at the doors of the bank building, straight through her. He looked determined and also like he wished he didn’t have to do this.

She’d seen that look before. The young woman stepped closer and asked softly: “Have I ever told you why I came out as asexual to my extended family?”

This subject change was so unexpected it caught Aziraphale’s attention. Blue eyes – they really were ridiculously blue – looked down at her. He cocked his head. “No,” he said hoarsely, then swallowed, “Why?”

“Oh, same thing, isn’t it? You could absolutely keep your head down, and there’s nothing wrong with that. They have no right to know, no _need_ to know. You don’t need to tell them. You can get by alone just fine; you see them maybe once a year. It’s just that you get sick of the assumptions. You don’t like always navigating what you think and what you think you need to think when you’re around them, considering having a boyfriend or girlfriend just to feel human enough to them. You start questioning-“

“Crowley started questioning”, the angel interrupts. “He asked questions and he _Fell_. God made him Fall.”

Mel nods. He did, after all, and so She did, too.

“I get that you’re scared, I do. But you saved the world. You chose humans, because you like us. You told me so. You chose the middle path instead of Black-and-White. You’ve gone native, remember?”

She pointedly tugged on the lapels of his grey jacket.

“You already chose. You made that choice _two years ago_ , and you haven’t been punted out of Heaven yet. You don’t _need_ to declare anything, just like I didn’t _need_ to come out to my extended family. You’re perfectly fine as it is. They are the ones who were ignoring you for six thousand years unless they could use you, and then demanded you fit their assumptions anyway, even though they only appear at Christmas dinner.”

Mel frowned. “Okay, I may be mixing metaphors here. The point is, you dodged their judgment two years ago without any consequence.”

The young woman shook him back and forth gently to emphasize this: “ _God didn’t make you Fall_.”

Aziraphale’s eyes brightened and his back straightened. She hadn’t, he realized suddenly. He’d rebelled and hadn’t become a Fallen Angel. He’d just…gotten a bit more human, is all. Nothing wrong with being a bit more human.  

Mel noticed the difference in his posture. “That’s right. Regardless of the hellfire they wanted to rain on you, you’ve been judged by God herself and proven innocent. You’ve paid your dues and you owe them _nothing_ anymore.”

She smiled, stepping back to give him space again. “You’ve gone native, after all. The only power they hold over you is the power you give them. And what you’re giving them right now”, she said as she pointed at his messenger bag, “is _your_ judgment on _them_. It's your choice, now. What do you want, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale swallowed. No-one had asked him that before. Except, no, there was someone out there who had. “I want humanity. I want my husband. I want to tell Gabriel that he can shove it. And I want to use their own fucking paperwork to do it.”

“That’s the Plan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 I vaguely recall someone calling angel’s gender “capitalist” once. If you told Aziraphale this, he’d giggle at the accuracy, dodge eye-contact, and mentally make a note to mention it to Crowley.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 20 “Fill _in_ paperwork, it’s all _correct_!”, Mel objected, often and with great indignity.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 21 Their battle plan, to be clear, which is neither the Great Plan, nor the Ineffable Plan.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 22 Pride is a sin, which she was Christian enough to feel a bit guilty about. But as she was currently about to help someone else hack Heaven and break a demon out of Hell if he was Down There, well, you know. In for a penny.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 23 Time could get a bit iffy when reporting Upstairs or Downstairs. For example, when Aziraphale had been discorporated two years ago, he’d had a five-minute conversation in Heaven with a short-fused bloke handing out divine military equipment and then came back to Earth to find Crowley. Crowley on Earth, meanwhile, had had the time to drive from Mayfair to Soho, find the bookshop on fire, think Aziraphale had died, have a Moment, drive away again, realize he had nowhere to go, lose all hope, find a pub and get absolutely plastered to await the end of the world.  [ return to text ] 


	6. Who do we call the enemy, my children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna start posting the 'teasers' separate from the chapters from now on, to get myself to keep writing.

_A gentleman walks into heaven through the front door. He wears a newly-tailored suit jacked and waistcoat, a jarring gray against the bright walls of heaven. His shoulders are straight, yet he is relaxed. Bored almost, with the splendour of Heaven. Sick of it._

_Other angels, low in rank, scuttle away around him. They hug the walls and keep their heads low and skittishly murmured to each other. That’s him. That’s Aziraphale of the Easter Gate. Is he even an angel anymore? What is he doing here? His bothed execution was meant to be a secret, and so everybody knows of it._

_At the end of the great entrance hall there is a desk with a suddenly very nervous cherubim._

_“Hello”, Aziraphale smiles affably, “I’m here to drop off some paperwork. Can you go get Gabriel for me?”_

_The cherubim objects: "You could just give me the paperwork, sir."_

_The smile gets a lot less affable._

_The cherubim remembers that principalities outrank her; she remembers they were made to be soldiers; she remembers this one stopped the apocalypse and stepped through hellfire unscathed. She remembers no-one knows whose side he's on._

_She runs to obey his order.  
The other angels in the hall just run away._


	7. All the wealth within these walls will never buy the thing called love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gentleman walks into heaven through the front door. He wears a newly-tailored suit jacked and waistcoat, a jarring gray against the bright walls of heaven. His shoulders are straight, yet he is relaxed. Bored almost, with the splendour of Heaven. Sick of it.  
> Other angels, low in rank, scuttle away around him. They hug the walls and keep their heads low and skittishly murmured to each other. That’s him. That’s Aziraphale of the Easter Gate. Is he even an angel anymore? What is he doing here? His bothed execution was meant to be a secret, and so everybody knows of it.  
> At the end of the great entrance hall there is a desk with a suddenly very nervous cherubim.  
> “Hello”, Aziraphale smiles affably, “I’m here to drop off some paperwork. Can you go get Gabriel for me?”  
> The cherubim objects: "You could just give me the paperwork, sir."  
> The smile gets a lot less affable.  
> The cherubim remembers that principalities outrank her; she remembers they were made to be soldiers; she remembers this one stopped the apocalypse and stepped through hellfire unscathed. She remembers no-one knows whose side he's on.  
> She runs to obey his order.  
> The other angels in the hall just run away.

 

Aziraphale had been waiting in a large office with a spectacular view for a while. He knew the waiting was a common intimidation tactic and tried not to be intimidated. _How morbid_ , he mused drolly, _I think this may even be the same chair they tied ‘me’ to back then_. Crowley had only recently divulged the details of ‘his’ angelic execution in case Aziraphale needed to bluff Gabriel. To be fair, they had thought it would take considerably longer for Heaven to try anything. Who’d have thought Crowley would be the one to need rescue so soon? [24] 

His senses being continuously open and scanning for Crowley even now, he noticed Gabriel approaching and wasn’t startled when the office door was suddenly flung open. He tried not to move as the archangel stalked around him and sat down heavily. The desk chair squeaked pitiously at the abuse.

“Alright”, the archangel sighed, “Let me make this as short as possible. Why the fuck are you here, Aziraphale?”.

The angel couldn’t help it. He fidgeted a little. Moment of truth. He swallowed and pointed at the two dark grey folders he’d laid on Gabriel’s desk: “I brought you paperwork.”

The archangel looked down at the folders. Then, gingerly and while keeping an eye out for sudden movements  [25]  from the principality, he flipped open the first folder.

Aziraphale continued: “Firstly, I wish to- to formally arrange my dismissal, which I believe started two years ago when you tried to murder me – the key word is tried, of course, haha. That’s, uh. Not well liked in human labour laws at all, I can tell you that! So, uh, instead of sueing you for, well, for unlawful termination of contract. It’s uh- I’m proposing a deal, that you will leave me and whoever associates with me alone. Uh, and you cannot send me on missions or force my hand. Any miracles I perform – to still serve the Greater Good, of-of course – will be performed freelance and out of my own free will”.

Gabriel’s eyes snapped up at those last words. Free will equals human, after all. No good angel or demon dared to claim free will. Angels and demons were meant to serve and obey. Not- not- _not resign and go freelance_. He frantically looked for a loophole.

As Gabriel was going through the first folder with horror increasingly plain on his face – the paperwork really was airtight, and also produced in triplicate – the principality became much more confident. He really could do this.

“I…have come to the realization that miracles are something I can do regardless of whether you allow me to or not, so technically you can’t control that bit of my nature.”

Gabriel had come to the end of the first folder. His lilac eyes glittered with resentment: “And why would I let you go? Why would Heaven _reward_ you for betraying us?”.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and met Gabriel’s gaze. This wasn’t his boss anymore. Really, he never was truly superior to him at all. This man-shaped being before him was petty and vain and so far from loving that it was incredible he called himself an angel at all. Perhaps that was the problem, he mused. Angels were meant to be soldiers fighting out of love for God’s creation. But Heaven had forgotten about the loving bit. Only caring for the drum and the fife, as old William had put it. Putting more stock in grandeur than kindness. Thinking it was more important to perform acts of service that maintained the Heavenly Hierarchy than to perform acts of service out of love [26] .

“I’ve- I’ve never betrayed God, or Heaven”, Aziraphale countered, “Not really. If I had, I’d have Fallen. God hasn’t made me fall so She can’t be that mad with me. You’re just mad, because you’ve lost sight of what our mission, our true mission, was. And- and as such your judgment is worth nothing to me.”

“I have been on Earth, loving God’s creation since the moment I was stationed there. I’ve been living right alongside humans all this time, eating and – you laugh, Gabriel, but it really is valuable. I know better than any other angel what will tempt humans into Evil, and what will thwart that. I am welcome among them and gladly received on Earth, while – frankly, my dear – I don’t think _you’re_ gladly received _anywhere_. [27] ”

Gabriel wanted to jump out of his seat in anger, but Aziraphale was faster. He jumped out of his seat and slammed his hand on the desk: “LET ME FINISH!”

The archangel froze. Aziraphale’s eyes glowed blue, and the white of his eyes was showing. Gabriel had only seen such a look once, just before the angel had _spit hellfire at him_. Gabriel had just enough spine to not jump back, but he stayed seated.

The principality huffed, pulled his jacket straight and continued in a pleasant voice. “Really, I’m doing you a bit of a favour. _I_ can go back to the humans and continue my mission, free of charge. Meanwhile _you_ can save your reputation, _formally_ , while acting no different than you have been these past two years. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the looks outside. The circumstances of my execution aren’t secret. They know I disobeyed you and they also know that _you can’t touch me_. With this deal and my official resignation, you can save whatever face you have left. In return, you stay off my back.” Then he added hastily: "Oh, and I get one other favour, but that's to do with the other folder."

Gabriel glared up at him: “And what if I refuse to sign this deal.”

Aziraphale hummed as he pensively tapped his middle finger on the desk. “I haven’t decided yet,” he confessed blithely, “Not sure if I’ll ask the Antichrist to sick his Hellhound on your wings, or maybe I’ll steal some hellfire and let it loose on your office.”

Aziraphale leaned forward. Gabriel leaned back. The office chair squeaked.

“But I guess I’ll borrow my husband’s favourite quote,” the angel said with in a decidedly serpentine hiss, “and say that you could, _maybe_ , refuse me and get away with your life. You just gotta ask yourself: _are you feeling lucky_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 24 It has been noted that Aziraphale was remarkably lax about preserving his corporation, despite his bellyaching about the paperwork. Then again, they both know that Crowley likes to rescue and that Aziraphale likes to _be_ rescued so neither mention it.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 25 He hadn’t forgotten the disturbing sight of an angel standing in a pillar of hellfire, untouched.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 26 Like Crowley did or like his friends in London and Tadfield and Brussels.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 27 That was a lovely insulted face Gabriel was pulling. Aziraphale filed it away to describe to Crowley later.  [ return to text ] 


	8. Follow that dollar for a long way down

_It’s been said that there is a stairway to Heaven but a highway to Hell. This is technically a metaphor for the effort it takes to be Good. It is, however, a very inaccurate metaphor._

_Heaven and Hell both have escalators._

_These are the front-door access, well-used by all angels and demons who don't like to miracle themselves down or claw their way up to Earth._ _Unbeknownst to most beings, though, there was also a lift. As far as upper management is concerned, this lift is the only way through which angels and demons can get into each other’s realms (another method is looking like your supposed adversary and being kidnapped to be executed by your own management's weapon of choice; this is also the only reason Aziraphale even knows the lift exists.)._

_Like the lifts in some so-called wheelchair accessible buildings, this was a too-small service lift that could be found all the way in the back. Once found, angels also needed to explain why they could possibly need the lift before they could use it, as Gabriel was a controlling, self-important prick. He might loudly declare he was looking for pornography in your bookshop, but in this, Gabriel got human behaviour right on the money._

_In Aziraphale’s case, his request to use the lift involved rather more openly threatening behaviour than humans tended to display in such situations. Interestingly, this led to him gaining access immediately. Go figure…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not personally in a wheelchair, but I do ...you know...listen when disabled people complain about the accessibility of my university's campus. If only threats worked so well for human accessibility conversations. That's why this is a work of fiction :(


	9. You’d shine like a diamond down in the mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been said that there is a stairway to Heaven but a highway to Hell. This is technically a metaphor for the effort it takes to be good. It is, however, a very inaccurate metaphor.  
> Heaven and Hell both have escalators.  
> Unknown to most beings, though, there was also a lift. As far as upper management is concerned, this lift is the only way through which angels and demons can get into each other’s realms (another method is looking like your supposed adversary and being kidnapped; this is also the only reason Aziraphale even knows the lift exists).  
> Like most lifts in most so-called wheelchair accessible buildings, this was a small service lift that could be found all the way in the back. As Gabriel was a controlling, self-important prick, you also needed to explain why you could possibly need the lift before you could use it. He might loudly declare he was looking for pornography in your bookshop, but in this, Gabriel got human behaviour right on the money.  
> In Aziraphale’s case, his request to use the lift involved rather more openly threatening behaviour than humans tended to display in such situations. Interestingly, this led to him gaining access immediately. Go figure…

Aziraphale sat down heavily on the floor and pulled his messenger bag into his lap. He took out a water bottle, a small quiche, and a cheap, sturdy Nokia cell phone, all courtesy of Mel. As he munched on the pie, he considered what to write.

He was no longer a soldier of Heaven; the deal had been signed. His marriage would be respected. Well, no, not respected. Grudgingly acknowledged, the angel supposed. They couldn’t punish him for it or order him to undo the contract, because he’d gotten married AFTER he’d been, quite literally, fired. [28] 

But oh no! There was one last piece of paperwork that needed Crowley’s signature! And Aziraphale couldn’t find him anywhere! Whatever could they do? Best speed things up and let Aziraphale use the lift to see if he’s in Hell! Aziraphale was not very good at sarcasm, or lying. Therefore, the angel had only said things that were absolutely true and in the most genuine voice possible. So genuine, in fact, that Gabriel had thought he WAS lying or being sarcastic. Aziraphale had then given up and started threatening the archangel again. It was super effective. 

Gabriel desperate to regain some dignity after giving permission, had spit out to “stay in Hell with your boyfriend for all I care” as Aziraphale walked away. The angel hadn’t had the nerves left to correct his terminology. It had been a scary, exhilarating conversation, and his nerves had caught up to him. His hands were still shaky, and his breath trembled. He gulped down some water to calm down a bit more. It didn’t help, of course, because now there was Heaven behind, but Hell ahead.

The lift doors _ting_ -ed. It was time. Aziraphale pressed send – “The Plan worked. Going down. A” – and stood up as he tucked away the phone, sandwich paper and water bottle. A deep breath, then he stepped inside.

As the lift went down, Aziraphale stretched his neck, shook his shoulders out and swallowed nervously. The angel started to rub the quiche crumbs off his hands but thought better of it. With another thought, his hands were even grubbier. They were filthy with soot, which he rubbed all over his face with a disgusted huff.

He checked whether his flaming sword was still strapped to his back, then reconsidered. He unbuttoned his jacket and, with a snap of his fingers, shifted his sword up higher. [29]  Now he could grab the hilt easier.

As he put the jacket back on, it shifted: his clothes crinkled, oozed, dirtied. Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up a bit as he pulled up a sooty hood that hadn’t been there before. It concealed his bright hair and the hilt of his sword well enough, though. Needs must.

He took up his bag, then faltered. There was a weapon in here far more terrifying to demons than his sword could be. Would he be that kind of soldier? He was no true soldier, who was he kidding? Could he be, after all this time? For all that angels and demons were supposedly hereditary enemies, he had come to realize they were of the same stock. Why would a random demon be more deserving of being destroyed than Gabriel, simply for standing in his way?

For that matter, there was no reason for angels and demons to be enemies. Oh, true, they fought for control over humanity and earth but they both showed the same lack of true concern. They were one and the same. Who were they to stand between the marriage of an angel and a demon? For goodness’ sake, their offices were connected! Michael had provided holy water for Beelzebub, and so had there been hellfire in Heaven. If the war between Heaven and Hell had happened, there would be no great change, only the turning of the wheel.

It was a wheel Aziraphale would take no part in. He left the weapon where it was and prayed he would not have to use it. He hoped he could be the angel that never would, but he knew that for all his bluster, his morals were on shakier grounds than Crowley’s. Really, it was a wonder he hadn’t ended up in Hell a long time ago.

It had always seemed tailormade to be his personal nightmare. Crowley used to rile him up with it, sometimes, when he was well in his cups. He’d describe how everyone had terrible hair, and filthy clothing. They’d never wash their face or clean their teeth. Nobody ate anything except human flesh, or rotten meat, or cilantro. They wouldn’t drink anything but sewage or stale tea which –in the angel’s mind – would taste very, very similar. Aziraphale would shiver theatrically and gripe about Crowley putting him off his feed [30] , before nibbling on a HobNob to recover from the conversation.

The lift stopped. The doors opened, and a great darkness spilled into the elevator cage. Aziraphale made a disgusted face as the smell hit him. _Nope, definitely not lying about the lack of washing_. A distant sound reached him, and he paled. It appeared Crowley had failed to mention the screaming.

Looks like Crowley had gotten an angel into Hell, twice. In a way, Crowley was now just about the most succeful demon ever. Aziraphale gladly imagined Crowley’s insulted face at being told as such. Or perhaps he'd find it funny.

Crowley, when being told by Hastur that Aziraphale was in Hell, did not find it funny at all. Then again, maybe that's because of the way he was told...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28 Drunk we-survived-being-executed celebratory weddings, one; prissy bureaucracy, zero.  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 29“My dear girl”, Aziraphale asked in an awed tone, “how did you find this harness so soon? I can strap a sword to it and it’s invisible underneath my suit jacket! Why, it’s utterly perfect!”.  
> Mel tightened the back straps and smirked: “Oh, I just asked around.”  
> The angel side-eyed her, suddenly suspicious: “Around where?”  
> “I have friends in the leather scene. This one’s used as a secret leash for businessmen in fancy suits,” the young woman demonstrated as she pulled him backwards by the harness. Aziraphale produced a sound not unlike a ‘Ngk’.  
> “Don’t worry”, she teased, “I got the harness cleaned first.”  
>  [ return to text ] 
> 
> 30A true and utter lie, of course. It takes a lot more to put Aziraphale, of all beings, off his feed. The list so far appears to be being in the middle of a famine, being in the middle of a war zone, Crowley disappearing, and accidentally tasting cilantro.  [ return to text ] 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Wait for me", Hadestown. A musical about Orpheus and Eurydice.


End file.
